Starlight's Embrace
by oldfashionedromantic
Summary: Erik interrupts Raoul's reunion with Christine this sets the story on a different course. Rated M. For Language and future Content. E/C as always.
1. Prologue: Hannibal

Starlight's Embrace

**_Prologue_**

_Hannibal_

The music had escaped him, and Erik felt drained, like he wanted to sleep but the clock on the mantle told the one inside him that it was time to wake. Tonight was the night of the performance, and Erik knew he must make himself work; he must focus. He had been preparing for this moment for as long as he could remember and sleep could wait. His head was muddled, his mind fogged up and he needed to breathe. Needed to get out of his home and go to the roof where the cold would wake him up. Slowly, he rose, like the skelington he was. Graceful and terrible all at the same time as he grabbed his favorite cloak before heading along the rafters where the minions of his artistic domain carried on their addle-braided lives to the end goal of pointlessness which was the human race.

Ballet rats getting drunk on shots of rum, fornicating with the stage-hands and slapping one another as this one stole that one's barrett. The fat tenor making moon-eyes at the toad of a diva who was pampering those yappy little mutts. Erik wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of them, wishing he could strangle them and have done with it but knowing he never would. Opera ghost though he was, he had a soft spot for animals and actually pitied the things that they had such a hag for a mother figure. He again made a face behind his mask and kept going, giving Joseph Bouquet a good solid stomp as he was made to step over him.

The drunken swine groaned and rolled over before snoring and letting out a loud, obnoxious belch as fluid came out of his mouth, drunk and puking all over himself he was lucky that he was a handsome man and the girls were after him for his looks. Because he had nothing else going for him. Up and around he went, his white mask luminescent in the lights of the candles which were used to create the spotlight. He continued on his way, twisting and winding as he got the sudden notion that he being followed. Let them follow him; the idiot would soon find he was on the wrong end of his noose. He felt the eyes of his stalker on his back, making him bristle and Erik went quickly up and out of the shadows.

Starlight. It welcomed him like a hand extending from the shadows a set of ten long ghostly fingers covered in diamonds and beckoning him forward. Blue and mysterious, it reminded him of the object of his unreturned affections. Always drawn to the light, too blind to see the beauty of the shadows. So lonesome, so wretched. Just like his blackened, broken would never understand the beauty of the silent, lonesome darkness as it rang with a muted melody. A melody only the most privileged were ever allowed to hear and his Angel of Music, beautiful as she was would always be deaf to it. His girl, drawn to the light would never be able to listen to the tears of the starlight as it mourned for the sleeping sunlight which no longer let it rest. Sad and remorseful as they were, the eyes of the night sky were as sparkling with tears that he nearly offered his handkerchief.

It was of course, the only gentlemanly thing he could do; to offer the only lady ever kind to him his handkerchief; although he admittedly never wiped her tears. She always seemed to be waiting for him, weeping for him, as though he had broken her heart. Committed some sin which he did not remember the details of but he still had to pay the penance. It was certainly an egregious one, that much he knew. For every night these past weeks, Lady Midnight had clung harder to her gloom and tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight was even worse; for when he had stepped out onto the roof of the Opera Populaire, a shooting star dribbled one glittering teardrop down her face. And just like every night, he raised the black satin favor and like always his melancholy mistress refused to take it and he put the cloth back in his pocket where it shrank in remorse.

Unused and cold as it was it felt like a punished animal crawling back into his cave not that he blamed her. She was after all, jilted. He did not blame her that she wept at the sight of him. Most people did and Erik was certain that he was in fact, the cause of her tears. The man who the world called anything but human. The man the world had dubbed a ghost stood his silent vigil over the cobblestone streets of the city. Streetlamps glowed with firelight to set the famous romantic atmosphere the capital of France was known for. Warm and intimate like two lovers having relations on a silent rushing breeze. Erik scowled as he caught sight of all the well-dressed people walking arm and arm into the theater for an evening of fun and romance where the wine flowed better than the music.

Booze and good cheer flowed like rain and laughter and warmth was the entire purpose of these people's lives and it made Erik both jealous and ill to think of them. There were times when he thought of what it would be like to be down there with them. Enjoying the stupidity of the actors who said lines and regurgitated words with all the pasted on smiles and false emotion that one would expect of a drunk. This was what passed for acting, the screeching of the diva, was what passed for music and Erik simply glared in disgust as the masses ate their pitiful scraps. Gorging themselves on expensive edibles and fine wines as their ears feasted on the dregs of the music, never hearing it at its full potential and numb enough not to care.

Sometimes Erik longed to be one of them. Longed to be stupid and simple and beautiful. But alas he was not and so he sneered at the goers who did not understand what it was they were looking at and nor did they care. Erik looked them up and down and sometimes, during intermission would fantasize about killing them one at a time. That was until Christine came on stage and grabbed his full attention. His girl was a beauty but she simply couldn't dance, she had the coordination of a frog on the pavement. But her voice, when she was given a line or two was as pure as the night itself. Beautiful and tragic, just like the night to whom his heart was now traitorous. Lovely and tragic was his angel, lovely and broken from a loss which Erik could not hope to understand.

He had no concept of human love. The love he felt was so much stronger than that of those simple creatures and the lady he wanted now was of a mortal nature had no idea just how far he would go for her. Not that he expected her to, as he flung the doors to the long spiraling staircase and began to take the stairs two at a time. Up, up, up, he went toward the pointed tip of the tower where he threw open the shutters to the large window and stepped out into the blast of frigid air. Snow speckling his face; causing one side to match the other, nearly a clean painted coat of pure white. He grabbed the pulley he had installed and the roof bloomed for him like a midnight rose, so rare and perfect that even he had to smile.

The astronomy tower at the Paris opera house was Erik's second-favorite place in the city; he had designed it himself. The roof opened up in the nighttime and the skies stretched on forever. He inhaled sharply, the smell of winter, like concentrated rain as he looked down at the snow covered rooftops of the city all covered in snow. It was the closest thing to ethereal beauty he would ever see and the madness of it was; that it was deadly all the same. Death was beautiful in its own mysterious way; for as it stole the breath from the lips of the mortal, it left them in the glow of the moon. White, pale and cold as the ice of death took them and painted their skin. Leaving bare to the world the eternal sadness humanity could never outrun. Try as they might the cold inside them would turn them blue for the soul which made them warm; which rosied the blossom of their cheeks, had gone back to the creator where it would remain.

Evermore in shadow, the blueness of the skin would bring forth the mourning of the corpse as it turned that icicle shade and then the ugliness which rested with mortality at last came to view. It was an ugliness that Erik himself had been cursed with from birth and so the world had banished him but little did they know the ugliness was inside them all. It just took longer for them to see it, and for the most part they never did. Buried before their sightless eyes could take note of the flesh being eaten away by the bugs and worms and all manner of other things. Yes, those the world excepted would never see their own rebus. A pity really. But not one that Erik cared to bother trying to fix it. No, tonight he would make sure they all pay for what they chose to do to him and it all began with the curse.

He stood there watching the moon rise and the stars align in the shape of an arrow. He swore under his breath, for no particular reason. He just felt like it. Taking a swoop down he flung himself off the top of the tower and grabbed the pull string to shut it. Swinging on the rope as if it were an African vine, Erik leapt down on the roof where the snow crunched beneath his weight. Leaving marks the exact shapes of his too-shiny leather shoes as he went and making him wish for a moment, that he had normal feet and could go barefoot in the snow. He imagined the footprints he left were not human as Erik had never been and did not consider himself to be human. He was both below and above them all at the same time. Peering down at the footprints he left, it was then that Erik realized that he was in fact not alone. His feline eyes looking all about to find the very person he did not expect to see staring right at him.

Those jade eyes were unmistakable. He narrowed his eyes in disgust and marched toward the man with murder on his mind the lasso he kept always in his cloak coiling like a snake into the palm of his left hand. The snow crunching almost soundlessly beneath his feet sounding like the scurrying of rat's feet;scurrying and scuttling along the icky and grime-ridden stones of his dungeon. Erik knew of course, that his footprints were far from rodentcery; he had seen his own feet many times but it still amused him to think of it. Still he marched toward the man with murder being the primary focus; although the great booby seemed to remain unphased. In fact the man's demeanor was down-right calm and it only served to stoke the anger of his further.

"Salam-malacham Nadir Khan." he said to the shadow.

"Bon Jour Erik D'Aubert." he said slyly. "So this is where you have gone to?"

"And you have been following me." he said, narrowing his eyes. "Why?"

"You are...a heavy burden my old friend...a heavy, heavy, burden." he said rubbing his temple as though he had a headache.

"A burden you were not asked to bear." Erik snarled.

"Remember Erik, you made promises to me back in-"

"Persia I remember just stay out of my way."Erik sneered and stalked off, with Nadir laughing quietly.

That man would never change and something told his old friend there was trouble afoot in the halls of the Paris Opera house. The only question was when and where and how. Still, he couldn't stay around all day and he went home, hoping Erik would not get into too much trouble while he was away. Erik on the other hand was heading back to the cellar for a strong glass of wine, because ninety seconds with that man was enough to give anyone a headache. On his way back however, he heard that, that _toad_ doing her normal singing impersonation and he cringed. Not sure how much more of this he could take. He went to the corner, and swiftly untied the rope, dropping the damn thing atop the hag before she knew what was happening. What followed was _glorious _and Erik decided to have a little fun with the panicking company.

"All this talk of ghosts you fool!" he shouted out, his voice echoing around the room, "When your stagehand is drunk and snoring on the job!"

This was enough for the new one, the one with the goat-horn shaped hair: "Bouquet, for God Sakes man!"

Poor old Lefevre shouted, "Third time this week and people ask why I am retiring."

"Please Monsieur it wasn't me!" whined the drunk woken up from all the noise.

"Well who was it then, oh never mind just get down here!" Shouted the manager two-toned hair and curly mustache.

The man toppled down and landed flat on his arse having missed the latter and landing flat on his back. Due to his inebriated state , the man found this very funny and began to laugh like some raving lunatic. Howling and guffawing like some drunken idiot as he pissed all over himself and laughed at the sight and smell of the puddle while he finally got to his feet. Erik watching him like an angry cat, complete with eyeshine as he glared from the shadows. The three managers were grimacing and wrinkling their noses in disgust at the stench of his piss. He should have just stayed down because standing up was a mistake and a costly one. He belched and then the mouthful which came up turned into a flood and he wretched, spewing puke and booze all over their shoes before burping and giggling like some schoolgirl.

"Sorry 'bout 'at Messrs, but better out than in eh?" he chuckled, while the three of them eyed him in angry disgust.

"Yes well," Lefevre began, trying to keep his calm. "If you didn't drop the screen who did?"

Bouquet chuckled again, grunting, "The Opera Ghost don't like -hic- Mrs. Piangi much!" he belched again, "thinks she's a -burp- whiny bitch he does!"

Carlotta went scarlet in the face, "'Scuse me!" she screeched. "Ubaldo they-a callin' me a dirty female dog!" the tenor patted her on the shoulder.

Erik was dying to burst with laughter but managed to keep a straight face as the man slurred, "Well Mrs. I mean, you do tend to act like a child and he doesn't like you so-" another burp, "he wan' ya ta shut the fuckin' 'ell up!" he cheered slapping her on the back.

Erik smiled. The man was smarter than he thought and he had to smirk when Carlotta threw a tantrum which a toddler would have taken notes from and waddled off screeching for her doggie and the fur had to smother a laugh lest he be heard and caught. He continued to watch the three managers, stooping low to write a note with the quill and red ink he always brought with him on the back of a programme from last season's opera. He may as well introduce himself properly to these men, welcome them and explain the way things were done at his opera house. The managers meanwhile were chasing after her and the current one, with one foot out the door was berating the man with a zeal Erik admittedly found impressive.

"There is no Opera Ghost!" he bellowed, "are you so drunk that you believe some _bloody translucent _spector is lurking about being a musical critic?!"

Joseph Bouquet laughed, grabbing another brown bottle from the staff trunk as he did so. "No sur! That'z no' wot he looks like!"

"_Oh_ DO TELL!" Lefevre said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What does the** 'Opera Ghost'** look like?!"

"Well," Another laugh and burp, "He's got yeller skin, no nose looks like a snake's snout." another loud and apparently smelly belch, a hiccup. "fitting the way he slithers about the catwalk with these, weird yellow eyes, like a ruddy cat! He skulks about always with a mask and his eyes glow like two tiny fireflies that never seem ta blink! Look he even stepped on me ribs."

Lefevre looked flabbergasted, positively incensed. Erik fell to his knees helpless in a fit of silent and uncontrollable laughter. "Yellow eyes, glowing? You're a bloody madman! You probably bruised yourself landing on the damned backdrop which then fell on poor Carlotta who has now quit the night of a very important gala performance!"

"But sur it wasnnit me...the ghost is-"

"ENOUGH!" the manager roared causing him to cringe. "You're fired! F-I-R-E-D! FIRED now get out!"

Bouquet looked shocked before slobbering, "Y-y-y-you can't do that, you don' own this place anymore!"

"Till I walk out that door I do! Now on your way!" he gave the man a shove. "Crazy old Bastard!"

Bouquet stumbled, almost fell on his face, lumbered forward muttering, "Show them who's crazy I will...the ghost is real they will all see."

The new managers had returned and were sputtering and whining about refunds until...Christine...his Christine was called on to sing by way of that busybody madame Giry. Erik could not help the soft groan that escaped him. His angel was not ready. Her voice was good but she had much, much still to learn and did not have the power behind an opera singer's voice. Her range, pitch and voice were flawless but she was far too timid as was she, just looking at her from his post told him that much. In fact she was so pale that Erik was sure she was going to vomit in terror. So pale, hands clenched, shoulders slumped and shaking. Erik was sure she was going to run off stage or throw up or both and he began thinking of lullabies to comfort her after such a mortification.

But the old goat continued to push her to sing and sing she did. She sang with all her heart, all her soul in a voice which he had not known she was capable of. It rang out, like the cry of an angel bound to heaven and trying in vain to break the chains that bound her to earth. Erik fell to his knees; his legs too weak to hold him up as he listened to the music which only the two of them could understand. She sang for him. Always and only for him and he disappeared down the corridor to his box where he made himself comfortable and pricked his ears to listen. Erik was elated as the girl, the poor girl dropped into a faint right in the arms of little Giry who was laughing and fanning her gently to wake her up. Erik shook his head as he headed back to the door toward his cavern.

He tied a black ribbon around a red rose, raising the petals to his malformed lips and kissed it as he headed up to place it in her dressing room. It was a pale comparison to her own beauty but it was the best he could do. He headed to her room where the bumbling fool of the opera house doctor was just packing up to leave. Christine was laying there, the orange of her strawberry blonde hair shone as bright as the candlelight around them. And something came over him that he simply could not explain he had this urge to go to her. She was just so lovely, and looked so fragile, he wanted to hold her but he knew he never would. Not in this lifetime. He heard someone knocking at the door, and Christine whisper for them to come in.

Erik disappeared behind the mirror just in time as a young, handsome boy more peacock then human appeared at the door. Erik glared daggers at the man. Just who was this and who did he think he was coming in here when she was in such a vulnerable state? Christine it seemed did not recognize him either. She blinked those lovely lavender eyes at him and looked positively like a deer being hunted down. The boy, a handsome lad to be sure, was golden blonde with forget-me-not eyes; Erik hated to admit he was quite a specimen and hated him for it. He had no idea who this person was and was sure that he did not particularly care to begin with. But this man seemed to be very interested in Christine and _that _annoyed Erik to no end.

"Christine, don't you recognize me?" he asked, eyes twinkling as he ran his fingers through the rose-gold tendrils of her hair.

"No sir, I do not." she said her voice groggy.

"It's me, your old friend, remember, the scarf you gave me?" and he removed a tiny faded rag from his neck.

Erik almost puked at the sentimental garbage this boy was spewing. Noticing the small tattered rag he now presented her with and marveling at the fact that it had at one time been a little scarf. Far too small for a grown man to wear and looking as though it were in desperate need of a wash. He handed it to her and, to Erik's horror Christine kissed it and began to cry. His blood boiled! This bastard had his nerve making Christine cry! But then, things got even worse! Christine, sobbing wrapped her arms around him tight and held him; nuzzling his shoulder.

"Oh Raoul it's so good to see you again!" she sobbed, hugging him.

"Ah Christine, you were magnificent tonight please you must come to dinner with me tonight!" he said, rubbing her back.

Erik groaned and rubbed his temple in pain, "No Christine..." he murmured without realizing he had said it out loud.

Apparently he said that loud enough for the boy to hear, because he looked rapidly about and asked her, "Did you hear something?"

Christine smiled sleepily, "The Angel of Music is here..."

**This story is dedicated to my friend Alys hope you like the first chapter Passion Play coming back soon!**


	2. Chapter one Window Seats

Starlight's Embrace

**_Chapter one_**

_Window Seats_

Erik smiled grimly as he watched Christine look into the mirror sleepily and try not to close her eyes. She clearly needed to fall asleep and this idiotic boy was keeping her awake with his stupidity and nostalgia. She looked so sleepy; like she would be soon fainting on her backside. He imagined that a moment, her falling backwards in a faint and this boy not even noticing. Continuing to prattle on and on about some stupid memory he had made up (there was no way he remembered all of this from a decade ago, seriously) and just ignoring her. He seemed like the type that would do that sort of thing. Prattle on and on and on while his audience was bored to sleep. The idea made Erik chuckle a bit as he pictured the sleepy girl calling out to her angel as she did every night. He did not watch her in bed at night but he did stay close by as his Christine suffered from terrible nightmares and sometimes would wake with a scream in the far-reaches of the night.

His nocturnal nature beneficial to him in this aspect; as he could play her guardian angel and keep watch of her for nightmares while he was awake. Some sick part of Erik longed to see her sleep, watch her eyes close and just gaze on the statuesque beauty of an angel bound to earth. Christine wanted to, the poor girl! He could see how heavy her eyes were, the ringlets under them making them look like a cat or a racoon or something. They kept slipping downward till she yanked them back open in an action which looked to be rather difficult. Something about this made Erik very angry indeed, and he wanted to leap out of mirror and choke the young man for bothering her when she was so clearly in need of sleep.

But just as he suspected this boy was well frankly the definition of the thing that wouldn't shut up. He just went on and on, with that same dopey handsome grin on his face while she blinked in and out of consciousness. Hardly able to focus her eyes Prattling on about goblins, dolls and chocolate, which admittedly made Christine offer him a smile. Erik's heart stopped at the handsome man beguiling his pupil. He had thought he Erik ground his teeth at the sight of him. Something about this young man was really pissing him off, making his blood boil and it was only made worse when he heard her join him in reminiscing.

"Lotte was a good girl," she began dreamily, her eyes sliding shut even as she sat down in her gilded chair and tried not to let her eyes close all the way a futile effort even as she spoke. "She loved her mother, she loved her father but she could not dance, so papa told her one fine day she'd sing for all of France. "

Erik rolled his eyes, "Insipid trash." He said louder than he'd meant to.

"Did you hear something?" he said again. "I could have sworn I just heard a man insulting me."

Erik couldn't help it he laughed and he laughed hard. The sound echoing from behind the mirror as the imbecile actually began to look in her closet of all places and ruffle her dresses around. It was an indecent move if there ever was one and the Phantom was sure he had dulled his own teeth by now, nearly ground them to dust. Christine was doing that thing that people who are going to sleep but are in denial often do. Mumbling about resting her eyes and then allowing them to slip downward a few seconds longer each time while the boy, who simply could not take a hint, continued stomping about the room and waving his sword like an orchestral conductor. Erik hoped he would fall on it face-first and die; he had really had enough of this.

"I told you Raoul, the angel of music is here..." said a very drowsy Christine.

The young man laughed, "You cannot be serious!" He said and then drew his fencing sword, "where is he?"

"He?" Christine echoed hardly awake, "Raoul the angel of music is in heaven of course."

"I know very well where it is that Angel's reside, my question is where the devil is the gentleman hiding in your room." he snapped slightly annoyed at her apparent stupidity.

Erik gnashed his teeth together. Hating this boy more and more as he spoke to his Christine that way. The implication that she, a girl with such ladylike manners that she asked a gentleman to turn away while she buckled her shoe; would have some unnamed gentleman prowling about. It was as if, as if she were some common whore! He very nearly burst through the mirror and knocked the boy'd lights right out of his stupid face. Oh how he wanted to! But he could not risk being seen because if he did, the boy would surely run to the management and then it would all be over. He would be carried off by law enforcement away from the opera and her.

Which was not only unacceptable it was simply intolerable. So all he could do was wait and watch as the idiot actually traipsed about the room like some sort of twit and watched him feel her pillows and such, Christine completely forgotten. Just as well as she had finally given up on keeping her eyes open and let those golden dust lashes fluttering against her rouge covered cheeks and Erik smiled. Realizing she had actually fallen asleep although not very deeply because his little songbird, well she tended to snore louder than a train. It may had been creepy but Erik often listened, to her to make sure that he was in fact near her because being away from his angel was one of the worst times in his life and the deeper she slept the more likely she was to dream of him.

Erik decided in that moment that this boy was nothing but a meaningless irritant and an oblivious one at that! Could he not see she was in no mood for his nostalgia and his romances! He wanted so badly to scream at him that she was sleeping and that he ought to pick up his _stupid _feather top hat and be gone but he could only watch her, marveling at her beauty and terrified to shatter her calm. It would not do for the angel of music to be yelling at her suitor. Hell, Erik was pretty sure celestial beings were not supposed to even care that she had a suitor to begin with. But the sight of her like this and the knowledge it was all his fault made Erik cringe, her triumph tainted by the overpowering feelings of exhaustion.

The euphoria of the night had worn off leaving nothing now but the actor's fatigue; well that and his endless hammering on her to get her ready. He winced as he thought of that, that he had driven her to such an exhausted state. He remembered the marathon training sessions he had been forcing on her these past months. Sometimes for days at a time with no rest till her voice had been reduced to little more than a rattle in her throat with tears and painful pleas to rest. It had been worth it. Her performance had been sublime, ethereal even and he had been in ecstasy as he watched her reach the voices of the lord himself and put his angels to shame. Still, to see her this tired, this sleep-deprived did something horrible to his insides.

Erik felt so guilty, that it twisted him from inside out. It stabbed at his heart the way the thorns of a rose pricked a finger; although this time there was no blood. He had driven her hard these past ninety days, long hours of lessons with very little rest if any at the soil to reproduce the rose. But he could not help himself! Her music was the most beautiful rose in the bleak world which was his garden. And what a bloom she had sprouted this night. He eyed the rose in his hand, almost tossing it over his shoulder in disgust. It was a pathetic comparison to her beauty, but he supposed that his angel would like it and held onto it. Narrowing his gaze in aggravation as he watched the young man remove his coat and turn out his pockets as if the source of the mysterious voice was somehow small enough to fit into the inside of his greatcoat.

What an idiot! His hand clenched around the stem of the rose and he stifled a curse behind his hand as the thorns sliced his fingertips. He hated thorns on roses; they reminded him of his own face. The mangled weapons which marred the beauty of nature's most beloved flower. Something always marred the pretty things of the world, minus Christine of course. Nothing could ever subtract from her beauty, and he really, _really _wanted this young handsome fop to go away and stop making her blush like that. He was a right dandi in his blue velvet with the golden buttons and suede pants. Everything from his clothing to his attitude, even his damned posture suggested he was pampered and spoiled beyond the realm of logical sense.

He knelt beside her and brought her hand to the tip of his lips, removing his white, pristine gloves to reveal the most baby-soft hands the Phantom had ever seen in his life. Erik wondered if this boy had ever done a hard day's work in his life. The definition of a society babe who had not yet left the ties of his mother's apron strings and most likely never would. He did not appreciate the music, Erik had seen his type before. The opera house was crawling with them. Handsome young men with too much time and too much money than was good for them, flirting with the pretty young chorus girls who they had no intention of marrying. He was young enough to be naive and had a romantic gleam in his eyes which her tutor detested.

Her eyes slid shut again and this time it took her a full minute to remember to open them back up. The boy -Christ what an imbecile- was now searching the room for signs of an intruder and of course not finding one because why the hell would he? Erik laughed, aloud unable to help himself, as the idiot began checking under the sofa for signs of life as if anyone other than a mouse could possibly fit there. He frowned, realizing the young man was not as stupid as he first thought. Raoul was not looking for anyone, no, he was playing some sort of childish game with Christine which she seemed to be very much the most animated, ridiculous expressions as he shrugged with his hands in the air palms up. His brow furrowing in utter exaggeration as he went on through the room, sneaking whiffs of the young girl's perfume and even sneaking one of her ribbons into his coat.

This made Erik knash his teeth together it was just like he suspected; the blasted boy was after Christine. His Christine. The nerve of him. He felt his hands flexing and unflexing; and growing tighter and tighter as his butterscotch eyes seemed to shine in his haven of dark. There were few times, very few though they were when he regretted the two way mirror he had installed in the room. And he was finding this to be one of those times. These childlike antics not only bored the Opera Ghost but they were making him have one hell of a headache. So bad in fact that he had to fight back the urge to groan like the undead and give away his hiding spot entirely. Not that he was particularly worried about it; the boy was a simpleton with a gentleman's bookish education. There was no way he was going to discover Erik behind the mirror, if he kept quiet at least.

But this boy was just so very irritating and this little game of, 'find the whatsit' had to be the _single_ stupidest thing Erik had ever seen in his entire life; and that was saying something. He really did not understand why it was that Christine was so charmed by such a display of childish tomfoolery when all he wanted to do was tear the little hair he had clean off his head. It seemed however, that his girl, good as she was, is very easily amused and was smiling at him as she watched him out of the corner of her half-lidded eyes. Directing him to go this way and that way and everywhere in between, Stopping only to smother the fit of uncontrollable laughter as she told him to search a particularly unordinary spot. Such a key or knot hole of some kind. Their insipid game seeming to take hours and hours and more importantly, boring their spectator nearly to sleep.

He looked at his pocket watch and began twirling it around his left index finger till it was fast enough to blur and then stopped it repeating this three or four times before checking the time. It was nearly seven p.m. and Erik wondered how much more of this he could take when the twit literally did the oldest parlor trick in the book. Reaching up his sleeves he pulled out a long stand of multicolored handkerchiefs causing her to clap and giggle like a child. Sighing, he rubbed at the skin underneath his mask, wincing as he felt just how itchy it was beneath the porcelain mask. He winced when he touched a sore spot or rather hole in his skin. His fingers coming away with some yellow ooze, and cursing as he realized that he had contracted another infection, which he would soon have to go home and cleanse, he groaned. Finally, he turned his attention back to like she was going to fall asleep, like she was tuning him out and she gave that same dreamy smile to the boy that she had when Erik had spoken out the first time.

She looked adorable all drowsy and comfortable on her bed like that. Raoul on the other hand looked perplexed, confused even that when he looked around there seemed in fact to be no one there. Finally the blasted dolt turned over his top hat and searched for Erik inside the bowl of it and found-big surprise- nothing whatsoever before coming to kneel by the nodding girl who was now reclining on her sofa. Eyes no longer open and her lips parted as a soft breath of air escaped her lips. Erik felt something strange happening to the inside of him at the sight of her, jostling herself back to life; like this sudden urge to weep in frustration because she was so tired and this boy was hurting her. He was hurting Erik's angel and he was too stupid to realize it!

At last the boy turned to her with a smile saying, "I have made dinner reservations Christine at the Scarlette Rouge." he puffed out his chest like a bloody rooster, "Very exclusive, very expensive."

If the Phantom had any eyebrows to speak of he would have raised them before rolling his eyes. Damn that boy loved to flex his wallet around didn't he? Typical Changy behavior, all flash and no sense. Christine could not possibly go for such a disgusting simpering idiot as the never-will-be heir as soon as the comte graced the world with a child. Surely she had more sense than that. But then again he would not have been all that surprised were she in fact charmed by the lad as it seemed even the severe and hard-headed madame Giry tittered at him like some lovestruck idiot when the handsome young fop appeared in her line of sight.

Erik laughed a little bit as he realized that Christine was not listening to him and he had no idea. She was snoring, it was soft and ladylike certainly but it was audible enough if he bothered to listen. Good girl, Erik thought, she would be going nowhere tonight; just getting her rest like she should be. Erik felt himself smiling beneath his mask at the sight of her looking so very human. Mouth opened and drooling all down the front of herself as she turned her O-shaped mouth into the wing of the velvet sofa. He was still yammering on about things the two of them had done as children but she interrupted him with a very unladylike noise and another snore. Erik had to smother his laughter behind his hand as it finally donned on the young lad that his lady friend was no longer awake and was not listening.

"I say, Christine? Christine?!"

"Mph? Not now Mr. Rabbit." she mumbled, shrugging him off as he touched her shoulder.

"Rabbit?" asked the boy perplexed raising one goldenrod eyebrow, "Christine wake up or we shall miss our carriage." he ordered shaking her.

Erik growled and fingered the lasso in his cloak, wondering if she would sleep through the boy being strangled. Who even was this guy? Erik had thought the aristocracy to be a boring stuffy lot. The sort of folk who wore pinstripes and had long curly white mustaches. This man however, was gorgeous and had the body of a young buck. Now Erik was not a man who had any inclination to be sexually involved with someone of the same gender. In fact the very idea repulsed him. But he was if anything an artist and could appreciate a thing of beauty. And the boy was certainly very handsome indeed but no matter how handsome he was Erik knew that his girl did not want to go. She needed to rest, needed well Erik wasn't exactly sure what she needed but it wasn't him that was for sure!

She struggled up on her elbows, and her eyes were still shut. "Raoul, I am tired, can we go some other night?"

He pouted like a child who had been denied the toy he wanted. "Please Christine it's been ten years, come with me tonight."

Christine nodded reluctantly, needing help getting to her feet as she rubbed her sleepy eyes and splashed water on her face to try and startle herself awake Struggling to find her way to the closet and put on a proper gown for a dinner party with an aristocrat. Raoul shook his head, his eyes sparkling as he inspected her figure with the boyish lustfulness that came along with his age. Erik's heart thudded angrily in his chest as he fought the urge to just crash his fist through the mirror in anger but he must be calm he must maintain his composure. It would not do for him do frighten his sleepy angel out of her dreams but he was finding it increasingly difficult to do when this man was looking at Christine like that.

"You have no need for changing you are lovely as you are, come now we shall be late." and he left.

Thank God! Erik sighed in relief as the boy finally quit the room and Christine -oh that poor, poor child-settled back down and closed her eyes again falling asleep almost instantly. Her chest rising and falling and rising again, as a loud nasally sound tore from her sinus and Erik laughed a little. Smothering it behind his hand, as she exhaled like an elephant and turned her head into the frame of the chair. No wonder the girls at the ballet dormitory often complained about the noise and she had been moved to her private room. This suited Erik well enough of course, easier to give her lessons and sing her lullabies without the buzzing ears of the corpse de ballet.

"_Christine...Christine..." _he sang softly, to get her attention.

"Angel," she muttered to the dark, "my throat hurts."

"Snoring does that little one." he said gently. "speaking of, please continue to do so my dear."

Christine blushed, "Most people find my snoring obnoxious and unladylike." she murmured sheepishly. "I'm sorry if it bothered you."

Erik laughed at her. His sweet girl was so innocent that she even felt the need to apologize for the way she fell asleep. His good honest girl! She always had to be a lady, even when she could not keep her eyes open. Erik knew that she was going to fall asleep on her feet and felt the need to stand behind her in case she fainted and hit her head. The last thing she needed was to give herself a concussion. But then, he was behind a mirror so he would be of little use to her. There was nothing for it. pushing the mirror aside and assuring the room to be in total darkness he slid the mirror back and stepped into the roses as silent as the grave.

"Although it may make your throat sore, it simply means you have fallen asleep. Which you should still be may I add, why not get some rest, return to your dreamland." he told her, smiling at how sleepy and grumpy she looked.

"I feel drained," she admitted, "As if I gave my soul tonight and I am dead."

"Ah my child your soul is too beautiful to give to anyone else but the heavens themselves!" Erik extolled a little more enthusiastically than he should have.

Christine laughed drowsily, "Ah me," she said, "I am so tired I am dreaming my angel of music has somehow come down from heaven and is in my dressing room!" and she let herself fall back onto the sofa adjacent to her chair. "Besides why would a celestial being care if I snore in the first place?" and she resumed falling back to sleep.

Erik should have left it there and gone home, but something inside him made him open his mouth and then, "Christine I am-"

But just then the door opened and the boy, slowly poked his golden head inside.


End file.
